


The World Turned Upside Down

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [30]
Category: Actor RPF, Celebrities - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: WE WON WE WON WE WON
Series: The Manse [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209447
Kudos: 1





	The World Turned Upside Down

I’m in the bathtub, hiding. Drinking. Sketching faces. Losing track of time. Part of me wants to go into suspended animation until this election is over but that could be an extended coma I’m not prepared for at all. After falling asleep on the couch even while Stephen, Jon, and John bantered and yelled at the TV as results started coming in Tuesday night, I woke up at two in the morning and climbed upstairs to head to bed. The last three days, I’ve strangely avoided them, knowing that to look into their anxious, distraught faces would be to look into my own soul. So I’ve become a recluse in my own Manse.

“Sweetheart?” Ken’s dulcet voice gently pushes through the gauzy tones of the ambient radio playing in the bedroom.

I hear him tentatively enter the bathroom and step toward the shower curtains enclosing my cold ceramic eggshell of composure. I stare up at the vague shadowy outline of his form and take a deep breath. “Sir?”

His hand reaches out and he peeks around the edge of the curtain. His mouth tugs on one side into a half-smile of sympathy. “Cait, I wouldn’t normally bother you with this kind of thing, but it’s clearly more sensitive a state than I can handle.”

I wrinkle my brow. “What’s up?”

“Well, there are three very agitated comedians who have taken up residence in the living room.”

“I told everyone to leave them be,” I say matter-of-factory. “They have a lot to process. They need to process all the shit for us. It’s a lot of work.”

“Understood, believe me, but...”

“Have they broken anything? Do we need to buy a new carpet or take anyone to hospital?”

“No, actually, they’ve only just managed to fall asleep for the first time since Tuesday. They’re all dead to the world at the moment.”

I shrug and take a sip of my Vesper martini. “So what’s the problem?”

Ken leans down and holds out his hand to me. “Come down and talk to them.”

“They need the sleep,” I say, quite lethargic myself.

“Now that they’re in their least excitable state, it might be the most advantageous time to help them find a healthy outlet for all this bloody batshit.” He beckons me to quit my station. He takes my half-empty martini glass with one hand and helps me exit the bathtub with the other. As I step out, he quaffs the remaining beverage himself, wincing at the unexpected strength of it. “Ahhhhh... No wonder James Bond was so fearless all the time.”

I scratch my head and rub my face. “Kenny, that was my medicine,” I grumble.

“I’m your medicine,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss me right behind my ear, which he knows gives me goose pimples. He takes my arm in his and leads me downstairs. When we get to the hallway outside the living room, he urges me on, then gives my arm a little squeeze. “Come find me later, yeah?” Sir says with a little smile as he leaves me to it.

The room is silent save for the heavy breathing/snoring that rises and falls like some naturally occurring geological phenomenon. It’s also a friggen pigsty. Crumbly, crinkly Cheeto and Frito bags, empty cans of LaCroix and beer, bits of dried cheese and fruit stems and pits sticking to plates, THROW PILLOWS TOSSED TO THE FLOOR. How dare they.

I allow the martini flowing through my veins to calm my nerves as I gently sit down on the cushion closest to Jon, who is fast asleep in the most dignified position of the three: just sitting with his arms over his chest, head tilted over the back of the sofa. He looks rather in his element, wearing his grey sweatpants and matching hoodie—the warm-hearted old Jewish dad in repose. I scoot closer and lean into him, laying my head on his shoulder, which rouses him a bit.

“Oh hey,” he says with a yawn, unfolding one arm to wrap it around my shoulders. He tilts his head against mine. “Bubbeleh, I thought I’d never get them down for the night.”

From beneath heavy eyelids, we stare at Stephen and John—the former is in a fetal position in the center of the sofa and the latter is prone on the other end. I weakly shake one finger at Jon. “I told you not to let them have more than two Halloween candies before bed.”

Jon nods. “You’re always right.”

After a few seconds, when I’m sure Jon is about to nod off again, I ask, “Are you going to be OK?”

“Oh, we’re fine set up in here, don’t worry.”

I indicate the mess with a Vanna White hand motion. “Clearly, you’re not.”

“Alright, we’re a mishegoss. But what about you? You spirited away three days ago.”

“I was very much not OK Tuesday and Wednesday morning. I wanted to get spaghettified by a black hole just to escape the inevitable. But then the shit didn’t quite hit the fan.”

“Exactly. The shit instead landed near the fan’s base, where the stench is currently being very efficiently blown throughout the country.”

“You’re not wrong,” I say with a sigh. I consider the sleeping forms before us and sigh again. “I envy their ability to sleep. But Ken says I really need to confront all of you.”

“Why is that? Did we do something? I mean other than turn this place into a frat den.”

“No, it’s just that... You guys are my conscience. You’re my spirit animals. I lost touch with you and Stephen for the last four years and I regret that. I stuck with John and he did his damndest to help us process all the sewage through this time, but he is one person. The show was only once a week and there were long hiatuses and I really should have at least checked in with Stephen more often for the laughs. I just... didn’t feel like laughing anymore.”

“But laughing was all we had during the Bush years, remember?”

“Bush was different and you know it. He was incompetent, but he wasn’t a total bulletproof asshole. We just need an adult in the room again damnit.”

Jon hugs me with both arms and kisses my hair. “Sorry I took so long to get a show again, Cait.”

I hug him back, squeezing my eyes shut as hard as possible. “It’s fine, Jon, you deserved the break.” I hear Joliver stir, snorting as he flops onto his side and falls back asleep. Stephen continues to snooze, his face serene as I’ve seen it in forever. His glasses are still somehow resting on the bridge of his nose.

Out of the silence suddenly comes a scream from upstairs and lot of running feet.

Jon and I blink at each other gravely, our hearts beating out of our chest as the worst crosses over both our minds.

Alan and Ken nearly collide as they both race each other into the living room, yelling “TURN ON THE TV! TURN IT ON! TURN IT ON!” They both grab at the remote and simultaneously smash the buttons until the TV pops into life.

_“...Pennsylvania has been called for Biden, giving him a total of 273 electoral votes, officially making him the President-Elect of the United States of America...”_

Jon and I jump up and we both scream at each other: “FUCK YEAH FUCK YEAH YES YES YASSSSS!”

This of course wakes our other companions, who blearily sit up and rub their eyes at the scene in front of them.

Jon and I high-five and hug and kiss and giggle together, awash in a wave of relief that has been four years coming. Then we turn to Alan and Ken, who are looking on with giant grins.

“Congratulations, you’ve ousted the despot!” Ken says, shaking both our hands with gusto.

“Hey, I voted in this election as well, I get some credit,” Alan adds as he shoves Ken aside and hugs me and Jon as we all jump up and down. I reach my arm out and pull Ken into the huddle, so thrilled to have so many celebratory arms around me at the same time.

“Is this real?”

I look over my shoulder at John, who is staring into the TV like he’s possessed by a poltergeist. A big part of me feels his feels—so numb to any feeling of hope that we can barely believe it’s true even when it’s right in our face. Stephen, now on his feet, his hands over his mouth, is similarly in shock. When I notice a few tears drip down his cheeks, I quickly extricate myself from my current group hug and step over to him, then take his shoulders and shake him to attention. He finally stares down at me and instantly and openly weeps, collapsing a bit.

“Oh, Stephen, sweetie,” I say, kissing his wet cheek and guiding him to sit back down as his legs turn to noodles. I hold his head against my shoulder and pat his hair. “Believe it, let yourself believe it. It’s over. It’s done. The ring is cast into the fire from whence it came.”

“Will Gollum melt into the lava along with it, though?” Stephen asks, blubbering into my chest. “Please God, tell me he will.”

“Yes, Stephen, he will melt away eventually, I feel it in my heart.”

“Bless your heart,” he whispers.

I peek up at John, who is still as a statue, silently dripping with tears. Stephen blindly reaches behind him and grasps John’s shirt in his fist, pulling him into a three-way hug with us. Jon scoots over as well, and Alan and Ken kneel down on the floor to join the wet-faced sniffling huddle as the TV continues to blare out with footage of people honking car horns and cheering in the streets across America.

POP!

We all gasp at the moment’s punctuation and look around for the source of the sound.

Tilda is in the kitchen behind us, placidly pouring a magnum ofVeuve Clicquot into several stemmed glasses. She stares at us, her eyebrow raised. “Don’t just gape at me, lady and gentlemen. There’s a party to be had out by the pool and we’re already late.”

Stephen sniffles and grins at her, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Madam Tilly, I was saving that for the Second Coming!”

Jon squeezes his friend’s shoulder and shakes his head gently. “This will have to do for now.”

With that, we all help each other off the sofa and feel a sudden lightness in our steps as we crowd into the kitchen and each take up a sparkling glass. Tilda raises hers as high as it will go.

“To Uncle Joe and Auntie Kamala,” she says with her usual dignity.

Jon holds his glass up. “To democracy.”

“To the one good thing to come out of 2020,” I say.

Ken takes my free hand and shakes his head. “No, that’s not the only good thing.”

Everyone wears a quizzical look as we await Ken’s explanation. He acknowledges each of my Manse dwellers with a nod until he finally looks to me, warmly interlocking his fingers with mine. “You returned to us, and returned to yourself in the process, Madam Cait. Knowing what you’ve endured in your heart and soul and mind, that is no small feat, and well worth celebrating.” He smiles at me and I am a second away from being undone. “Cheers.”

And it’s my turn to cry. “Cheers!” I say. “Fucking CHEERS!”

We nearly smash our glasses together and I take a moment to kiss every one of my beloved heroes. Sanity be damned, I feel better now than I have in over a year. Thanks to real life friends and parasocial ones, I feel hope again.


End file.
